Earlier this year, I was in a pharmacy that was having a sale on makeup, with all the sale items together on one table. I had an armful of products and was searching through the rest for particular colours, moving things around, putting some things back when I found something I liked better, etc.

A woman who was part of a middle-aged couple came into my aisle and stood a few displays away behind me, complaining to her partner about the pharmacy and how she couldn’t find something.

I was focused on what I was doing so I wasn’t really listening to their conversation; my brain just registered some kind of sarcastic white noise that was getting increasingly louder and more passive-aggressive.

Her partner was quietly trying to hush her as she continued to exaggeratedly sigh and moan to him.

Woman: “This pharmacy’s employees are terrible. Gah, I need helllp!”

From the time she’d walked into the aisle, she had just stood there and never attempted to go find an employee or whatever it was she was after.

Finally, she very loudly and exasperatedly bellowed:

Woman: “Does she even work here?!”

I was startled by the outburst and turned around to look at her, finding her looking shocked and turning red because that was the exact moment when she realised that, no, I didn’t work there and wasn’t some employee ignoring her, and also the moment when I realised that the whole two minutes or so of sighing and nasty comments were actually aimed at me.

Flustered, she grabbed her partner’s arm and marched past me without making eye contact, still complaining about the pharmacy and its “terrible service,” though now in the erratic tone of someone trying to convince themselves they hadn’t just done something embarrassing.

I was dressed in all black (not anything like the employee uniform, but not out of the realm of possibility that I could work there) and I can understand how she might have thought I was restocking or sorting the sale table, but what a way to go about it instead of just asking, “Excuse me, do you work here?”

My friend was a manager at a restaurant and my other friend was a server. A few friends and I went to visit them and get some good food. While my friends were being directed to a table, I stopped to talk to my server friend.

The uniforms were black pants and a white shirt. I just so happened to be wearing black yoga pants and a white shirt — similar but not the same. I talked with my friend for about two minutes and then walked to the bathroom. I walked past a table and the woman there was staring me down. I just ignored her and walked into the bathroom. When I came out, the woman was waving at me. I awkwardly waved back.

Woman: “Hello, can you come here?!”

I awkwardly looked around and walked over.

Woman: “It was very rude of you to ignore me!”

It didn’t hit me until then that she assumed I worked there.

I laughed, and before I could explain, she demanded the manager. At this point, she was pretty loud, so another server came up. She demands the manager again, so the server went to get him.

Manager: “What’s the problem, ma’am?”

Lady: “Your server ignored me and gestured at me.”

Manager: “Who? [My Name]? She doesn’t work here.”

Lady: “But you know her.”

Manager: “Yeah, but she doesn’t work here.”

Lady: “THEN HOW DO YOU KNOW HER?”

She really didn’t understand how he could know me if I didn’t work there.

This went on, and eventually, she accepted it and dismissed us by saying I shouldn’t be dressed like the servers.

I was a nineteen-year-old college student in a university under the Hospitality course, majoring in Culinary Entrepreneurship. Every week, each member of our group was assigned to buy certain ingredients for our cooking or baking projects.

After class one day, I went to the supermarket to buy my ingredients. The only ingredients that were assigned to me were heavy cream and powdered sugar, so I went to the dairy and creamery section first. As I picked up the cream and placed it in a basket, an old lady came up to me.

Lady: “Excuse me, sir.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am?”

Lady: “Can you help me find butter? The one I bought yesterday was margarine. It gives my cookies a weird texture.”

Me: “Sure, ma’am.”

As the creamery and dairy sections were close to each other, I went on suggesting items for her.

Me: “If you want the cheapest one, this brand is a good unsalted and salted butter for you. But if you want quality, I recommend this for you; I use this when I bake some myself.”

Lady: “Thank you, young man. May I ask for your assistance with finding more baking items that I need? I might need your suggestions on this one.”

Being a good boy, I helped her as I also got my second and last item.

Lady: “Thank you so much, young man. I can take care of the rest now.”

Me: “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

I decided to buy a soda and snacks for my trips back home before going for checkout. As I finished shopping, I saw the same lady with the manager talking about a nice young man who helped her and demanding that they give that person a raise. When she saw me, she approached me, pointing in my direction.

Lady: “That’s him! That’s the young man I was talking about. I would like to ask that you give him a raise for helping me.”

Manager: “Ma’am, I appreciate your good feedback, but I’m sorry, he doesn’t work here.”

Lady: “Wait, you don’t work here?”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, but I am only a student — here is my ID. I think you’ve mistaken me for an employee due to our similar uniform.”

Lady: “Oh, how embarrassing for me to ask a complete stranger and waste a manager’s time.”

Manager: “It’s fine, ma’am. If he actually worked here, I would convey your comment to him.”

Me: “It’s fine for me, too, ma’am. I am not that busy anyway, and I’m just helping when I can, even if I don’t work here.”

Lady: “I’m sorry again. Thank you very much for helping me.”

Me: “You’re welcome again, and I’m happy to help.”

And then we went on our way.

I’m in college. I tend to dress somewhat interestingly — not odd, but enough that I stand out and tend to look a bit dapper.

One day, I’m out shopping with a friend, and she wants to pop into a clothing store. I’m standing outside the dressing room while my friend tries something on. This woman walks up to me and just assumes I work there. I get this a lot, actually.

Customer: “I don’t think I’m going to get this shirt. Can I just hand this to you? And do I need to get a number to try these three on?”

Me: *Taking the shirt* “You know, I don’t think you need a number, but…”

I spot a girl in a headset standing next to a Go Back rack.

Me: “…I believe she works here. Let me ask.”

Customer: *Laughing* “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re just dressed so fancy.”

Me: “Thank you, and it’s no trouble at all. I’m just waiting for my friend, anyway.”

I walk up to the attendant.

Me: “Excuse me, does she need a number to use the dressing rooms?”

Attendant: “Oh, no.” *To the woman* “You’re fine; go on in!”

Me: “Oh, perfect. And can I just leave this top with you? I guess she decided she didn’t want it.”

Attendant: “Yeah, sure.”

My friend finally comes out.

Friend: “Who did I hear you talking to?”

Me: “Oh, a customer confused me for an employee.”

Just then, the floor manager comes up because he’s apparently been watching the whole thing.

Manager: “You handled that very well. Would you like to work here?”

It just so happened that I was looking for a new job — my current boss was horrible — so I said sure. I filled out an application as a formality and started within a week.

I moved out soon after turning eighteen and went from the country to a big city. At first, it was a culture shock, but I adapted to it. A friend of mine was working as a security guard/bouncer at a club in town. It wasn’t a total high society thing, but it wasn’t crappy, either. One night, my then-roommate dragged me out partying.

I went out to have a smoke and to call someone as smoking wasn’t allowed inside. My bouncer buddy saw me and I chilled with him, smoking a cigarette, and having a chat. He then went away to use the toilet, so I lit my second cigarette and tried to make my call.

I was approached by what seemed to be a mother-daughter duo or maybe aunt and niece. But the girl was maybe eighteen or nineteen, and the woman was in her early to mid-forties.

Woman: “Hey, excuse me!”

She waved to get my attention.

Me: “Huh?”

Woman: “So, we’ve waited at least half an hour.”

My friends and I waited forty-five minutes to get inside.

Me: “So?”

Woman: “So, maybe you could bring us in?”

Now I got it. She mistook me for a bouncer. Okay. The bouncers were in black jackets with “SECURITY” written in big, white, reflecting letters on the back and in little print on the right side of the chest, and they had earplugs for radios in their ears so they could be called if they were needed inside. I was in a black bomber jacket, an AC/DC shirt, black pants, and a pair of combat boots.

Me: “Uh, I think there is a misunderstanding.”

Woman: “Oh, no, there isn’t. Sure, you can’t let us skip the line, but what if you just look the other way…”

She started touching my jacket and I guess she was trying to be flirty?

Woman: “…and we slip in. We just want to do clubbing, and I bet you need some ladies in there.”

She then slipped a banknote into my pocket.

Girl: “Look, clubs need some girls so guys buy drinks, right?”

Me: “Sorry, I’m not working here.”

Woman: “Oh, come on. I know a bouncer when I see one. I’m long enough in the clubbing scene. I know you’re afraid of what your boss maybe will say, kid, but I know him. It’s Frank, right? He’s a friend of mine. Tell him [Woman] slipped in.”

My buddy came back from the toilet and raised an eyebrow when he saw me. The girl looked at my buddy and her eyes widened. My buddy was wearing the security jacket, black leather gloves, the radio plug in his ear, and an ID card around his neck. The girl then whispered in the woman’s ear. She looked at my buddy and went red in the face. Both then retreated to the back of the line.

He asked me what happened, I told him, and we laughed. I pulled the banknote out of my pocket; this woman had given me 100 euros. I went back into the club and bought beers for myself and my friends. Thanks for the beers and my groceries the next day, lady!